Hoofprints in Ash
by The Writerholic
Summary: Matahira's path has never been certain, but the closer she gets to feeling her life is finally panning out, the stranger seems seem to get.  A journey of change, acceptance, and growth.
1. Prelude

**Hoofprints in Ash**

_Matahira's Journey_

**:: Prelude ::**

I was once told that our path is carved into the Earth long before we are born, that the Earth knows who we are and who we are meant to be before we are even cognizant to the world around us. For many in life, their path is but a lazily winding path through sun-dappled glades or wind-swept grasslands; clear, pristine, peaceful. It was never true of the path I was given to walk. Mine was an arduous uphill climb against the jagged face of an immovable mountain; stone so sharp it would cut to bone, footing so precarious that just one false step would lead to ruin.

At times, I often felt I was never meant to survive. There are times I stood on the precipice of living, looking down into the chasm, wanting only to slip over into the dark chasm of death. It would have been easier; it would have been less painful; it would have been the coward's egress. I was no coward.

I was the Daughter of Marsenauk, Dark Cloud of the Horizon; he who was the protector of our village, great warrior of our people, the twentieth generation of warriors in our family. His legacy and shadow were great, as was the terror in our village for any who crossed his path. Great as he was, there was truly only one thing Marsenauk excelled at: violence.

The path he walked was one awash in the blood of his enemies, littered with the bones of those he crushed beneath his might. The Earthmother might have wept at the loss of so many of her Children at Marsenauk's hands. It was a path that had been laid down for him, as it had been for his father before, and his grandfather before, back and back again for some twenty generations of warriors. Ours was a line that left only devastation in its wake.

I have climbed the terrible height of my path, cut and bruised myself against the jagged stones. I have come away wounded, scarred, and jaded against further harm. I stand on the edge of this plateau, looking back on all that I have overcome. I look ahead to the path that now lay before me; the path that has been walked by my father and grand-sires, my ancestors of time immemorial.

And I see nothing but hoofprints in ash.


	2. Firefight

**:: Firefight ::**

After much toil and dedication, I have finally been allowed to assist with the efforts against Deathwing and the encroachment of the Twilight's Hammer. I am glad to be able to put my skill with a blade to something worthwhile; not that the work in Northrend wasn't, but it seemed like little more than a tooth-cutting exercise, to see who would be fit to fight. Thankfully, I was found worthy. I don't think I could have taken much more of snow and ghoul slobber. Disgusting creatures.

My first series of assignments have been to assist the druids in Mount Hyjal; the elements themselves seem agitated there and with good reason. Word has it that Ragnaros has been raised by Deathwing; the prospect seems frightening to the Emerald Dragonflight. Trust a bunch of tree-huggers to be afraid of a firelord. I suppose it makes sense. Trees being flammable and all.

I've heard it said that the Dragon Aspect, Ysera, resides among these druids at Nordrassil, but I am a lowly grunt, so whatever tasks I am given are passed to me by some generic taskmaster. Not that I really care; dragons all seem to be a rather insufferable lot who seem more concerned with "the world" than "the people". I've never cared much for being a pawn in other peoples' games. Mother's Tail Hairs, I don't even like chess.

I was given the opportunity to gut some Cultists in the process. I could feel the fire in my blood; the desire to slaughter them all and reap bloody carnage for all that my uncle and those he loved had suffered. I could hear Marsenauk's voice low and sibilant in my ears. _Kill them, kill them all! You are a Warrior, a brutal berserker, just as I was! You are the Daughter of Marsenauk; death is all you can ever know. _The end came for them swift enough.

As much grief and misery as these wretches have given my uncle and his clan, it is no less than they deserve. Standing over their bodies, their blood dripping from my blade, I would have thought I would feel some manner of satisfaction, some joy at having achieved this small retribution for my uncle.

As I watched the flame of life die within their eyes, I found that I could only pity them. As my uncle often says, we are all Children of the Earthmother, their paths were carved into the Earth just as mine had been. They were meant to come to this place of flame, smoke, and death - their demise at my hand known to the Earth long before I dealt the final stroke. The thought brought little comfort.


	3. Elementary

**:: Elementary ::**

In the verdant, yet ravaged lands of Hyjal, I had the distinct honor to behold the power of the wolf-god, Goldrinn. He is a majestic sight, yet there is a strange, almost terrible strength to him. Much as I would never admit it to anyone, it frightens me to some degree. There is a feralness to him that calls to the warrior blood within me.

The orc, Takrik, told me that we should all learn from the example of Goldrinn. I have watched as the great white wolf has moved among the foe-beasts and ended them beneath fang and claw. I have seen him return from the battlefield, blood matting his pristine coat. The warrior within me clamored, eager to join the fray, to feel the warm wash of blood as I felled the enemies of the Horde like so many sapling trees.

However, I was dispatched to investigate a cave that had been overrun by ogres; they clung to the place with a single-minded ferocity that gave me a challenge I desperately needed to drive the wanton, bloodthirsty nature of Goldrinn from my mind. There was an object there, they called it the Eye of Twilight, that thrummed with dark power even I could feel and I am no hand-waving sycophant, in tune with such things. The source of it seemed to emanate from deeper within the cave.

So, deeper within I went. The ogres there were of little consequence; slow, dumb, and completely predictable - most likely how many view myself, in a strange bit of irony. It was not the ogres that were the most interesting thing, however. I found a book on an altar.

The text within was undecipherable to me, save for one passage that had been translated to Orcish:

_In the beginning was shadow eternal._

_Hate blazed forth, and FIRE was born._

_Wounds scabbed, and so begat EARTH._

_Cries of anguish birthed howling WIND._

_Wherein the skies wept seas of TEARS._

_We live in the shadow,_

_The world we know_

_Built of rage, hurt, anguish and sorrow._

I stood there for a long moment, heedless of any reinforcements the ogres might be sending. I read the words over and again, something about them striking to the very core of me; to those dark, unreachable places I kept hidden from all. Even my beloved uncle.

_The world we know, built of rage, hurt, anguish, and sorrow..._

The very lyrics of my life. My fingers traced over the words again, my lips forming them, but not uttering them aloud. I committed them to memory. Why? I'm not even sure. They seemed...significant, somehow. It was as if, through them, I was given some greater awareness. Looking back on it now, I'm not even sure I was in control of my actions. It seems almost dream-like.

I turned my attention to the surrounding environs. Four crucibles filled with elemental energy floated at almost waist height to me, each set apart from the other so that they formed a square between them. As I walked between them, I murmured the passage from the book, repeating it like a mantra as my steps moved with a confidence my spirit did not share.

Heedless, I stretched out my hands and placed them upon the Crucible of Fire.


	4. Hatred

**:: Hatred ::**

As flesh drifted over stone, a burst of flame erupted from the basin of the crucible. It flashed around me, hot and brief, before filling my spirit with a boundless, dark rage that consumed everything: thought, sight, sound, even memory.

_That winter had been bitterly cold, most avoided leaving the warm solace of their homes, except in the direst of needs. All except me. Time and again, I was driven out into the snow by Marsenauk, sent out on errand after meaningless errand: fetch wood for the fires, ask the neighbors for some of their grain stores, bring his axe from the armory. I spent more time out in that freezing cold than I did within the confines of the house._

_I remember how much pain I felt when the ice began accumulating in the curvature of my hooves. The ice sent lances of pain shooting up my legs with every step. I stopped frequently to try and chip some of it out, but the more I ran around the village on Marsenauk's orders, the more fruitless the endeavor became. I eventually gave up and just endured as I have always endured._

_A Taureness from the village took pity on me, watching me struggle through the winter, icicles dangling from my horns, my hide laminated by a patina of frozen water. She brought me a blanket and some sort of leather socks meant to protect my hooves from the ice. I wasn't sure what to make of any of it; no one had ever bothered with kindness with me before. I stood there, clutching the gifts awkwardly, unsure of what to do with them._

_It did not take me long, though. Soon, I had the socks tied securely around my hooves, already warming them to the point that the painful ice balls that had built within them began to melt, easing my pain. The blanket, I wrapped around my head and shoulders, trying to retain my body heat as best I could. This joy, however, would be short-lived._

_Marsenauk saw me scrabbling my way across the frozen ground. In a rage, he shoved me down into the snow, tearing the blanket and socks away. Just as quick as he had pounced, he was gone, back inside where it was warm, leaving me alone and bereft out in the cold._

_It was there in that moment, I realized how much I hated him. It burned like a sickly fire within my heart and was enough to see to it that I survived that winter and every winter that followed, just to spite him. I hated him enough to live, because all he had ever wanted was for me to die._

I jerked my hands away from the crucible, expecting them to come away burned, so fierce was the hatred that burned within me. Yet, as I stared down at my calloused hands there was nothing. Before me, the Crucible of Fire was filled with a red-gold light, almost as if waiting. Expectant.

Wounded, bleeding from damage not of the body, but of the spirit, I turned away from it, stumbling across to where the Crucible of Earth stood. I stared at it for a long moment, my hands trembling, unwilling to close the distance, yet compelled by that same feeling I had since reading that passage. I had no choice. It had to be done.


	5. Integument

**:: Integument ::**

The surface of the Crucible of Earth was cool, almost soothing as it seemed to quench the flaming heat that burned within my chest. I stood there for the longest time, simply running my fingers over every curve and niche in the small stoneware bowl. I wanted to stay here where nothing could hurt me. I wanted to stay here where there were no judging eyes, no mocking smiles. Stubborn, they said. Mean, they said. Ungrateful, they said. Not a one of them knowing me beyond chance meeting, yet so blithely they cast their judgements and wonder why I despise them all. It is how I have survived this long, how I have managed to stay sane.

The stone was corrugated with imperfections; dimples and indentations a strange contrast to the smoothness of the interior bowl. It was made of quartz; the coarse, rugged exterior of a dense, dark stone, cold and implacable. Yet, the heart of the crucible, the basin, revealed a beautiful core of deep amber. I reached in, touching the yellow stone with my fingertips.

It was warm, but not with the all-consuming heat of the Crucible of Fire. This was something latent, patient, as if born from the very heart of the world. There was a sense of timelessness to it; that it would exist far beyond mortal memory. The thoughts, opinions, and petty grievances of the world of little consequence in comparison to the vastness of its existence.

I understood. My life was beyond others to understand and, ultimately, of no consequence to them. They didn't care who I was or what had shaped me into the person I am. Let them pass their judgements, let them laugh and ridicule. I know the heart that lay within.

Let them only know the surface.

It was as if with this conclusion, the Crucible of Earth drew something from within me. It flared with a golden light and the ground trembled briefly. An acknowledgement of some sort, or perhaps the passing of some kind of test. I could not be certain. I drew my hands away, mystified.


	6. Anguish

**:: Anguish ::**

I turned again, my eyes going to the last two remaining crucibles. Again, the litany from the book fell from my mouth as if reminding me what it was I needed to do. I approached the Crucible of Wind, my steps less uncertain, my hands almost eager as they reached for it. Its exterior was decorated with rippling swirls carved into the very stone, the feel of them beneath my fingers brought to mind windy days atop the Bluff back home. I drew a long, deep breath, half-expecting to smell the verdant grasslands of Mulgore.

"_Um... here," A marigold was thrust out toward her, held in the hand of one of the village Braves. A young Tauren named Psametik, he imagined himself one of the best Braves in training, but his eye had been caught by the female in their midst. He now stood a few feet away, offering her a flower._

_Matahira's ears flattened against her head, her brow sloping downward as she glared at him crossly. "What do you think you're doing?" She reached out a hand, slapping the marigold, sending golden petals flying every which way._

_Psame looked down-trodden as he watched the petals fall to the ground around them. He clasped his hands behind his back, looking at Matahira sheepishly. "I'm sorry..." he said. "I thought you would like flowers. All the other girls-"_

_Matahira snorted derisively, advancing on the young Brave with thundering clods of her hooves. "Do I look like one of those ribbon-headed, dew-washed princesses?" She huffed out her nose, her right hand clenching into a fist._

_Psame backed away from the irate warrioress, until his escape was cut off by the untimely obstruction of a tree. He leaned back against it as far as he could, trying to get as far out of Matahira's reach as possible. "N-no...! I mean...yes... I mean... wait!"_

_The Taureness had reared back her arm, preparatory to belting her fellow Brave in the nose. Psame raised his arms to half cover his face in a poor attempt to ward off the blow. He peered at her, but she seemed to be waiting as he had asked._

"_Um, look... I just... You're not like the other girls in the village. You're different." He lowered his arms somewhat, so he could look at her with admiration. "And that's what makes you better than them. You aren't worried about your clothes or your hair; you worry about the same things we all do. Honor and Glory and Survival of the Fittest!"_

_Matahira glared at him. "You wouldn't know half of what I know about survival." She lowered her arm, waving her hand at him in dismissal. "Get out of my sight. Don't come near me again, if you know what's good for you."_

"_Matahira..." Psame continued, stepping forward after her. Despite knowing what would follow, he reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, pulling her to a stop. "I know... I know you're a slave. I want... I want to help you."_

_As expected, she rounded on him, fist flying. It would have struck home, too, had he been a lesser fighter. However, Psame's hand met hers in the air, catching her fist before it could reach its intended target. "I know how hard Marsenauk is on you, Matahira. He has no right to be, but no one dares challenge him. He is an unstoppable force in our village."_

_Matahira stared at him as he continued to hold her fist in mid-air. Her arm stayed tense with the threat of still socking him one if he dared to let go. However, she looked at him, confused. "Why would you want to help me?"_

_Psame drew her fist to his chest, clasping it there with both hands as the motion threw her off-balance. His eyes smiled at her as she stumbled forward into him. "Is it not obvious, Matahira?"_

_She frowned. She jerked at her fist, trying to escape his grasp, but he was just as strong as she was. She was held fast. "You don't know what you're talking about. You're crazy! You need to leave. Now."_

"_I'll leave," Psame promised, slowly releasing her hand. "If you'll come with me."_

_Matahira looked over her shoulder to the doorway of Marsenauk's hut. There was no one watching, perhaps this was her chance, what she had been praying to the Earthmother for all this time! She looked back to Psame, her ears flicking toward him as the first glimmers of hope brightened her eyes. The young Brave smiled back at her._

"_Tomorrow," Matahira said, nodding once. "I'll be ready to leave tomorrow."_

_It would give her time to steal some things that would make their leave-taking easier; foodstuffs, supplies, blankets. Everything they would need to survive in the wilds of Mulgore. She knew better than anyone how to survive in these lands. With Psame at her side, there is nothing they wouldn't be able to overcome._

"_All right, I'll meet you by the river ford, near the Great Oak." He replied, his own eyes shining with his excitement. He closed the distance between them, reaching out a hand to touch Matahira's cheek briefly. "You won't regret this." With that, he was gone. _

_The following day, Matahira ferreted away all that she could, stashing all that she took within an old hollow log within the forest. As evening fell, she gathered it all into a pair of knapsacks she'd taken and hefted them onto her shoulder. She set out for the river ford, happy to finally be leaving this horrible village behind. _

_Nearing the ford, she could see Psame's silhouette against the water as moonlight began to shimmer across its surface. Her ears waggled happily at seeing him and her steps hastened toward him. She jogged up to him, panting eagerly. "Psame! I'm here!"_

_The sight that greeted her eyes was one she would never forget. Psame's body hung from the tree by a noose, bloodied and beaten. A Grimtotem arrow protruded from his neck, but somehow, she knew better. As his body swung around on the noose, the moonlight fell across a note that was pinned to the front of his shirt: __**You have been warned.**_

I jerked my hands away from the Crucible of Wind, stumbling blindly to the center of the floor as tears stung my eyes. Out of all the things to remember! Of all the memories to find! Why that one? My heart beat painfully within my chest and my lungs burned as I fought the urge to weep. The anguish that welled within me was a fountain that refused to be denied.

I folded in on myself, the tip of my snout almost brushing my knees as I sobbed, wept with such heart-broken lament as I have never done for the entirety of my tortured existence. Not even then, when I had found Psame's body and the warning Marsenauk had left me. It was as if, after all these years, I could finally release all that I had been holding in. For Psame. For the hope that had died with him. And for me. For the Taureness I had become.


	7. Lament

**:: Lament ::**

For a long time, I sat there on the floor between the crucibles, my eyes staring at, but not seeing the Crucible of Water as it floated before me. I snuffled, wiping my nose on the back of my forearm, lacking a proper kerchief. I didn't really care at that point, though. I just wanted this over with. I got to my feet and walked toward the last remaining crucible.

It was made of a pale blue stone that shimmered with its own interior light. It flickered and wavered as the sunlight on water. For a long moment I watched it, missing the waters of Stonebull Lake. I missed Mulgore. I missed my uncle. I missed all those warm and familiar things that have made my life worth living since I left that Mother-forsaken village with Liberanos all those years ago.

My fingers reached out of their own accord, brushing over the smooth, glass-like surface of the crucible. Like the water it resembled, it was cool to the touch, but invigorating as well. I found no imperfections at all, the crystal flawless. Unlike the others, however, the bowl of the crucible was filled with clear water.

The surface was perfectly still, reflecting back my mirror image as if it were no more than a foggy looking glass. My colors were muted, but it was still my face that looked back at me. I leaned in closer, noting the soft redness around my eyes. Ugh, I could never master the art of crying with tidy prettiness like other girls. I was always a mess.

As I inspected my general haggard appearance, I paid no need to my environs. That is, until my nose dipped into the water due to my lack of attention. I pulled back shaking my head sending droplets of water flying every which way. I half-expected to be zapped by some vengeful Spirit for my affront, but nothing happened. I stood there in the cool dankness of the cave, fingers brushing the Crucible of Water. And nothing happened.

"You have grown into a wonderful Taureness, Matahira," a kindly female voice spoke behind me. At first, I thought it might have been my imagination, something on the wind, but as I turned I saw her standing there.

She was beautiful for a Taureness; her hide was pristine white and her eyes were the green of new leaves on the first day of spring. Although her mane and the tuft at the end of her tail were long since gray, there was still a youthful exuberance to her eyes. They smiled at me, reminiscent of my uncle and the way his eyes crimped just so at the corners when he was pleased. I found myself looking back, my ears waggling slightly, pleasant.

"Nothing to say?" She continued, "You never failed to have a story to tell me when you were younger. You loved talking to me."

I looked at her, confused. I searched my memory, trying to find some scrap, some remnant of her face. I couldn't. There was a wall of pain and fear I could not see past. I had a feeling it was behind that wall that she might have existed. I looked up at her, helpless, as I shrugged. "I don't... I don't remember..."

She sighed, her hooves settling onto the floor rather than hovering ghost-like above it. She stepped forward, extending her right hand out to touch it to my nose. I recoiled, jarring her hand which caused her many bracelets to jingle alarmingly like a disturbed wind chime. Her eyes took my reaction in, something pained lurking deep within them.

"I see," she said at last. "Marsenauk has driven you from all we intended. You know nothing of me, nothing of the others that have come before me. All you know is pain and the death of everything that made you who you are."

My ears flattened as I struggled to understand. I held out my hands in entreaty, tilting my head as I returned the gaze she gave me, equally pained. "I don't understand. What... what do you mean 'all we intended'? What others? And... who am I?" I huffed out my nose, placing my hands on my hips. "And for that matter, who are you?"

She laughed. It was like listening to a warm spring wind swish through the grasslands, or the distant lowing of the kodo herds as they moved through the plains. It was a comforting sound, a welcome sound. Something that felt vaguely like home. Her hand reached out for me again, this time tousling the forelock of my mane as it fell across my forehead.

"My name is Atuye and you are Matahira. You are my great-granddaughter."

I stared at her. Something within me fluttered, struggling like a bird in a cage; something that longed to be free. I lifted my left hand, placing it over the center of my chest as I stared. My ears flicked toward her. "Atuye..." Memory struggled. Pain and betrayal kept it at bay. This was something important, something I needed to know!

She looked at me again, sorrow once again entering those green eyes as she seemed to sense my inner struggle. "Too long we waited, it should have begun with earlier generations. It had been our hope that Liberanos would prove to be the plow that readied this generation for all that we had planned. We underestimated the Warrior Spirit that is deeply entrenched within our bloodline." She looked at me, wounded. "And now it has robbed us of our future as well."

There was such hopelessness in her eyes, it struck me deeper than any blade. I wanted to do whatever it is she needed to have done. I wanted to see the light of joy again in her eyes like when she had laughed. I did not want to see this sorrow.

"What can I do?" I asked quietly, lowering my head in abasement, peering up at her with what I hoped was not a look of desperation.

She shook her head. "It is not for you to do, Matahira, but for me and all the others who came before. Marsenauk must be dealt with. Marsenauk must be made to atone."

I blinked, uncertain. Concern lined my face as I bespoke Atuye again, "He is dangerous. He will hurt you. Do not do this."

Atuye shook her head again, reaching to her neck where a beautiful silver necklace rested. At it's center was a deep green emerald. She stepped forward, putting the necklace around my own neck. "We do not fear Marsenauk, my sweetling, the damage he has wrought is severe, but not beyond repair. This path is now yours to walk, but you need not walk it alone. We are always with you."

I looked at her, again confused. "Who?"

Her eyes smiled in that strange way that she and my uncle both had. "The generations of shaman in our family."

I stumbled back into the Crucible of Water, tilting it on its magical axis and spilling the water out onto the floor. I looked down in askance, having no way to clean the spill, but when I looked back up, Atuye was gone.

Her necklace, however, remained, warm and solid around my neck. The only sign that all I had seen and heard were not some elaborate daydream. I lifted my right hand, touching the deep green emerald; it was warm and comforting in its way. _Generations of shaman? But Marsenauk had said we were nothing but warriors..._

I looked between all of the crucibles, each of them now glowing with their own light: Crimson for Fire, Amber for Earth, Blue for Air, and Green for Water. Something had transpired here, though I was not yet sure what. It was time to find my uncle.


	8. Interrupt

**:: Interrupt ::**

My uncle is never hard to find, especially when I have need of him. It is as if I always know where he is, like a lodestone knows North. It still felt strange that someone had become so tantamount to my life, when all I learned growing up is that I could count on no one. If anyone could make sense of this strangeness, he could.

In retrospect, I regret the disrespect, the pure contempt I held for my uncle when first we met. I was often difficult and unneccessarily cruel to him. Before my uncle, I had forgotten what things like friendship and even familial love even were. I hated everyone and everything; I hated the world for the Fate that had befallen me. It seemed so unfair that I suffered as others stood by and watched. Only two had ever offered me an escape. Only two.

_Oh, Psame..._

My uncle I found in his camp on the plateaus of Mulgore, the distant lights and smoke of Thunder Bluff visible in the distance. It seemed so like him, apart from others, yet close enough to still see , smell, and hear the life of the city on the winds. He has ever been a fringe element, my uncle, a silent, stalwart presence while Life seemed to frantically scurry around him like so many panicked chickens. As I approached his camp, I hesitated, reluctant to lay still yet more troubles at his feet. In my heart, however, I knew he might be the only one who would understand what was happening and why it was happening to me.

He was meditating when I first came upon him, so I sat next to him and did my best to organize my thoughts. I had so many questions, so many thoughts, so many memories...! My mind, normally so tranquil and focused in combat, whirled and fidgeted with a plethora of new ideas and perspectives. I could not make sense of them on my own. I needed help. His help.

When finally the silence was broken, everything I was thinking came out in a stuttering, jumbled rush of fragments I remembered from what had happened. I was not good at explaining any of it; how could I explain something I did not understand? I tried for a good few minutes, but our conversation was eventually interrupted.

The interloper, Sharik, supposedly chanced across us, thinking my uncle was someone in trouble. Air-headed heifer, she didn't even notice the hut or bonfire, the campsite tidy but obviously well lived in. I scoffed mentally, that lack of observation would get her killed someday. I was surprised it had not already. She's such a simpering thing with her perpetual smiles; there just seems to be something fake about her that I don't like.

I couldn't take her presence anymore. My uncle deserved to know the truth of those who would grace his presence. She was one of them, one of the villagers from back home who watched as Marsenauk subjugated his own blood, who watched as I was beaten and enslaved - and did nothing. Her very presence brought back a lifetime of pain, a lifetime of hatred. The fire of it burned in my belly like sick poison. I wanted to retch, to purge it from me, but I would not give her the satisfaction. I would not appear weak in front of a hand-waving sycophant like her.

"This is the way of Marsenauk..." my uncle had said at one point, gently chiding me for my rage. It hurt somewhat that he would take her side, defend her from all that I felt, as if she were some innocent. But he was right. This rage, this hatred, it all stemmed from a warrior long since dead. How well Marsenauk's legacy lives on. I felt ashamed.

Still, I was glad when Sharik finally took her leave. For all that I hate what happened to me, I cannot deny that it has made me who I am; it has made me strong enough to help my uncle when he has need, strong enough to defend him, protect him. Strong like the Earth and strong enough to walk this path I have been given, no matter how rocky it becomes. As I sat again with my uncle, I was reminded that I am no longer alone in the world and that no matter how often I stumble, he will always be there to lend me a hand to rise again.

I still have many questions to which I have no answers. I hope they will come in time. Spirits willing.


End file.
